Regency Vows: A Gentleman 'Til Midnight / The Trouble with Honour / An Improper Arrangement / A Wedding By Dawn / The Devil Takes a Bride / A Promise by Daylight

“Mama, please. What if he goes back to sleep?”

Then the inevitable would be delayed a few pleasant hours longer. Perhaps Mr. Barclay’s actions had been—in the most attenuated sort of way—laudable. And as galling as it was, she could no longer deny that his folly in the hold had been for Anne’s sake. Midshipman or officer, he would have known a one-man insurrection would fail.

Katherine would have been happy to ignore his sacrifice for Mr. Bogles. But it was not to be.

Anne’s dusky lips pursed a little with impatience, and small, dark brows dove with frustration. Sometimes she looked so much like Mejdan’s mother it was hard to know whether to laugh or cry.

“Very well,” Katherine said, finally setting down her quill. “Come along.” With all the enthusiasm of a convict on his way to the gallows, she led Anne into the passageway.

“I can give him the scroll, right?” Anne whispered outside the door to André’s old cabin.

“Yes, sweetling.”

“But you’ll tell him.”

“I will tell him.” Many things, but most of them not until Anne left. Mr. Barclay may have yet been unwell—she knocked once and turned the key—but she intended to have the answers to her questions. “Mr. Barclay—”

The bed was empty. There was a splash, and her attention shot to the bureau. He leaned over the basin with his hair slicked back and water dripping off his face, wearing only a pair of William’s trousers.

“Mama, ow!” Anne tugged at her hand.

Katherine eased her grip. “Perhaps we should—”

“Mr. Barclay,” Anne called into the cabin, “we’ve come to pay you a special visit.”

Return later. “Anne...”

He reached for a towel and—devil take it—caught Katherine watching him in the looking glass. One of his brows edged upward. “An honor indeed,” he said. His gaze shifted to Anne. “I see you’re not letting that errant cat of yours go far, Miss Anne,” he said. Katherine felt a push against her leg and realized Mr. Bogles had followed them in. Mr. Barclay ran the linen over his face, neck, shoulders. Muscles rippled beneath his skin with every movement.

“He’s better now that the big waves have stopped,” Anne told him.

“I’d say that describes every one of us.”

Anne gaped. “You don’t like the big waves, either?”

“Nobody does.” He reached for a shirt—one of William’s tunics, dark blue with long sleeves—and pulled it on as he came toward them, a head taller than Katherine and fully lucid.

Katherine silently exhaled. “You seem much improved,” she observed.

“A short-lived burst, I fear.”

Anne tugged impatiently on Katherine’s hand. “Mama, may we tell him now? Please?”

Mr. Barclay glanced down, raising a brow.

“Yes,” Katherine said. “Go ahead.” The sooner she swallowed these bitters, the better.

Anne let go of her hand and reached for Mr. Barclay, patting his leg as she held out the scroll. “This is for you.”

Comprehension dawned in those damnable eyes as he took the scroll, and amusement tugged at the corner of that hard mouth. “Thank you.”

Devil take Millicent and her restorative broth.

“Now, Mama,” Anne said.

At least he could be in no doubt as to whose idea this had been. “Thomas Barclay,” Katherine began solemnly. “As captain of the ship Possession I hereby commend you for your actions of bravery and sacrifice—” she absolutely refused to look at him “—on behalf of a most valued member of our crew, being that you did, during high seas, risk your life to save one Mr. Bogles, in service to Anne and everyone aboard this ship. For this, you have earned the highest level of respect and appreciation aboard this vessel.”

Anne could no longer contain her excitement. “It’s a commendation!” she cried.

“You do me too much honor,” Mr. Barclay said. It was an understatement of epic proportions.

“Did you look at the scroll?” Anne asked, with an achingly huge smile.

He untied the ribbon and glanced over the words Anne had insisted Katherine pen last night. “I will treasure it always,” he said, touching Anne’s cheek. “Thank you for recommending me for what I am convinced is a very coveted award.”

The temptation to soften her opinion of him wormed its way into Katherine’s mind, but she stopped it quickly. After all, two things remained unchanged: he was lying to her about his rank, so he’d served—no doubt very closely—under Captain Warre; and he remained every bit as virile as Phil had first claimed. The first she could simply force him to disclose. The second could not be remedied.

“Come now, dearest.” Katherine steered Anne toward the door. “Back to the great cabin while I speak with Mr. Barclay.”

“You mustn’t commend him any more without me, Mama. I want to hear.”

“There will be no further commendation. I promise.”

Moments later Anne was settled at the captain’s table with her box of beads, and Katherine returned to Mr. Barclay’s cabin. “Now,” she said, shutting the door. “You will tell me your actual rank aboard the Henry’s Cross, and this time you will tell the truth.”

He opened his mouth to speak but faltered, turning pale. “Do you mind if I sit? I’m feeling a bit—” He reached for the bed and sat down without waiting for her answer. He leaned forward and braced his head in his hands. “Told you it would be short-lived.”

She much preferred him weak and seated. “Should I send for Millicent?”

“God, no. She’ll only force me to take more broth.”

Katherine almost smiled. “Your true rank, then, Mr. Barclay.”

“What makes you so certain I’m not a midshipman?” he said to the floor. Solid forearms supported large hands with strong fingers that disappeared into damp, dark waves lightly salted with silver. Whatever his true rank, he clearly had the strength to do any job a ship required.

“Answer the question. I’ve had enough nonsense for one day.”

“Nonsense?” He looked up. “Please, Captain—I’ve only just received my first commendation aboard this vessel, and already you’re making me doubt its sincerity.”

“You need not doubt my sincerity when I tell you that you will regret withholding the truth.”

“I don’t doubt that in the least. And if I refuse, what will it be? The lash? The dreaded cat? Perhaps there’s a medieval rack hidden away in some lower hold.”

“You are not lying about having been under Captain Warre’s command,” she replied. “That much is evident. To date I have never found a need to resort to physical punishment aboard this ship—although there could always be a first time, I suppose.” She propped one knee on the bedside chair, where his borrowed waistcoat hung neatly across the back. “My crew and I enjoyed the most delicious pie at yesterday’s dinner,” she said conversationally. “Succulent gravy, tender beef and vegetables, topped by the lightest, flakiest crust. You know the kind, I’m sure? Melts on the tongue? Such a wonder what can be done with dried beef.” His eyes narrowed, and she knew she’d hit her mark. “What a shame that Millicent says you’re to have broth for at least another week—no, I take that back. She did say you could have a few bits of meat in it, I think, so under the strictest definition I suppose that isn’t broth. And of course, I faithfully defer to Millicent in all things medical.” She smiled. “Except when I don’t.”

“The depth of your ruthlessness, Captain Kinloch, has been wildly understated.”

“I’ll not deny it.” She held his gaze while he weighed his options. His penetrating stare teased a nerve in her belly.